What if She's an Angel
by General Pajama Pants
Summary: They say history repeats itself, and Hogwarts is no exception. There is much that has been lost to the sands of time, but one thing stayed the same: the perseverance, passion and determination of 4 friends to save the wizarding race.
1. Prologue

Prophecies were odd things, Terrowin Trelawney observed idly. They didn't have any rhythm or rhyme to them, they just... appeared without notice. Perhaps that was the magic behind them, the intriguing bit about the art of foreseeing and prophesying. One could study the art for years and years, and still it was surprising the varied prophesies that came to be, often in ways not foreseen, not predicted.

Today, Terrowin was feeling particularly imaginative. Hopefully something interesting would come up, because, as of the late, all he had been getting was an image of a castle, and a group of young witches and wizards. Today, his Sight willing, he would get something interesting.

How disappointed he was when, after settling into a deep trance for what seemed like years, the only thing he could see was a little girl with red hair and green eyes. She could hardly have been more than 12, but he saw clearly that her eyes bore a world-weary look where childish innocence and charm should have been. She looked so much older than her years. Brief flashes of pain, of fire, and words overwhelmed him…

_A shield for grief and pain, a vessel for all things bright and beautiful… And through this line, the power to overcome the greatest evil shall be born. _

The vision was gone as soon as it started.

Terrowin shook his head, completely confounded and slightly disappointed, poured himself a pot of tea, and settled into his tattered and fading armchair. He drifted off to sleep soon enough, and the little redheaded girl with haunted green eyes was soon forgotten, the first of many times yet to come.

* * *

**A/N: For those of you who are wondering, no, I did not chose my story title randomly. It does have meaning. In fact, it was inspired by a song of the same name: What if She's an Angel, by Tommy Shane Steiner.**

**Most of my chapters are inspired/set to a particular song, so I'll give you the name of the song at the end of each chapter. However, for some reason I'm not allowed to post youtube links, but most of the songs are on youtube, so just search the name and singer and it should come up. :)**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed.**

- General Pajama Pants. (=


	2. Of Meetings and Prophesies

Terrowin sat in his worn old armchair beside a roaring fire, which was altogether unnecessary in an unseasonably warm September, drifting in and out of a light slumber. It hadn't been an overly taxing day, but Terrowin was a creature of habit, and for 56 years he had taken an afternoon nap beside a pleasant fire; the mere passing of time would not break his habits.

The fire crackled suddenly, and his eyes snapped open to see the flickering orange flames turn bright green, then take on the hazy shape of a face.

Terrowin immediately recognized the face, and smiled warmly, if somewhat sleepily. "Clayton! To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked amiably, scooting closer to the fire.

Clayton smiled grimly, obviously not reciprocating Terrowin's feelings.

"The Council requests your presence," Clayton said tersely.

"Something _else_ for me to prophesy?" Terrowin enquired with a touch of sarcasm, arching a bushy grey eyebrow. All trace of weariness in his face was now gone, replaced with a wry smile and curious eyes.

"Something you've _already_ prophesied, actually."

"Word of the Founders prophesy has spread quickly, then?"

Clayton nodded wordlessly.

"Anything else? I should be getting back to my nap."

"No, that was all."

"Thank goodness," Terrowin mumbled under his breath.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

"Oh, nothing. Just a slight cough. So when does the Council request my _scintillating_ presence?"

"You are to be at the Gryffindor manor in precisely one hour. Good day." Clayton nodded once, and then the flames died down and returned to their former orange.

Terrowin leaned back into his chair, feeling strangely apprehensive about the impending Council meeting. Most of the meetings were lengthy affairs, fraught with boring political debates and several refreshment breaks, during which most wizards took the liberty to get drunk. He supposed it would ease the passing of the dull meetings, but Terrowin himself was not partial to drinking himself into a stupor that would have him wetting his pants every other minute.

Much to his surprise, the hour seemed to fly by, and too soon he took his leave of the cozy sitting room and Apparated to the Gryffindor manor with a pop.

Terrowin appeared outside the sprawling castle, feeling more than a bit depressed and resigned to a boring afternoon of having his brain picked apart for the benefit of others. All around him, other wizards were popping into existence, shouting greetings and exchanging pleasantries as they started towards the large double doors of Gryffindor Manor.

Terrowin joined the crowds, and within minutes of entering the castle, he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in attendance. It was as if they had transported the crowds of the Quidditch World Cup into the Gryffindor manor and thrown in the entire wizard population of the continental Europe for good measure.

The Council meetings weren't usually this large. Perhaps something mildly important would happen, instead of the usual boring Council business and intermittent drunkenness. Or perhaps a drunken brawl. The prospect mildly cheered Terrowin.

Jostled between wizards flourishing expensive robes, servants floating precariously laden trays above their heads, and darting children, Terrowin finally made it to the large round room where the Council always held their meetings.

The room was constantly shifting and adding seats to the circular amphitheatre-like stands as more and more people entered. On the opposite side of the common seats was the Council platform; it was a raised platform with a long table that curved in a semi-circle, and eight high-backed chairs where the four Leaders of Council and their heirs sat.

The Leaders of Council were traditionally the four most powerful wizarding families. Currently, the seats were held by the Malfoy, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw families and their eldest child.

Just as Terrowin settled into his chair, the four Leaders of Council and their heirs entered, and though tradition dictated that he stand up in respect, Terrowin seriously considered staying seated. However, he rose to his feet in a half-hearted attempt as the Leaders passed.

The lords of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sat down in the two centre seats, flanked by Slytherin on the left and Malfoy on the right. As soon as they were settled in their high-backed chairs, the rest of those present were seated with a quiet rustling, and thus the Council meeting began.

To pass the time, Terrowin decided to scrutinize the heirs, who sat beside their fathers on somewhat smaller chairs, looking about as bored as he felt.

The heir of the Malfoy line on the far right was asleep already, the familiar shock of white-blond hair obscuring what was sure to be a delicate, elfin face. All Malfoys had the same pointed chin, delicate features and dark blue eyes.

However, the youngest Malfoy was the exception to the rule. Mathew had shocking blue-grey eyes and platinum hair where the rest of his family had ocean blue eyes and darker, dirty-blonde hair. He still laid claim to the defining elfish features, but instead of a smile, his expression was usually a haughty scowl.

The rest of the heirs were so similar to their fathers that they could have passed as siblings were it not for their obvious age differences, and in one case, gender divide.

Godric, the heir of Gryffindor, had the same deep brown eyes and dark brown hair as his father, except where his father's fell in neat ringlets almost past his shoulders, Godric wore his in a much shorter cut in an attempt to tame the unruly curls.

Currently, though, his hair was sticking up all over the place, in sharp contrast to his father's shiny, neatly groomed curls. He looked on the verge of sleep, but as Terrowin watched, Lord Gryffindor discreetly elbowed his son in the side as he stood up to address the Council. Godric sat up abruptly, wide awake and nursing a bruised rib from his father's elbow. The other heirs snickered, but turned their attention back to the meeting when Lord Ravenclaw glared at them from the corners of his eyes.

"Terrowin Trelawney, the Council calls upon you." It was Lord Gryffindor speaking in his familiar commanding tone. Terrowin sat up with a start, tearing his gaze away from Godric's amusing facial expressions.

He had not expected to be called upon so early; perhaps his business wasn't nearly as important as he'd first thought it to be, since the most important announcements were usually saved for last.

Lord Gryffindor gave Terrowin a disapproving glance, then picked up a sheaf of parchment and began scanning it thoughtfully. Locating the information he sought, he cleared his throat and began to address the room.

"Before us stands Terrowin Trelawney, Seer of the hallowed Trelawney line. He, as the Council understands, has prophesied a monumental change in the near wizarding future. He has been summoned to this meeting to divulge this prophesy, and to advise us on a course of action, should this prophesy indeed prove viable. Stand, Seer, and tell us of your prophesy," he demanded, his voice echoing through the room impressively. As the last of the echoes died away, Lord Gryffindor took his seat and arched an eyebrow expectantly at the slightly stunned Terrowin.

Terrowin nodded, and attempted to remain composed, an effort that proved futile.

"Erm, very well, then," he began nervously, "The prophesy. Right. I saw fire, people fleeing, bolts of magic flying, and a castle, wreathed in flames, yet untouched. If we do not heed this prophesy, I fear it will mean the end of the wizarding race as we know it," he finished, somewhat awkwardly, as the room erupted into a jarring cacophony of questions and insistent shouts of "Silence!" from the guards.

"_Silence_!" Lord Gryffindor pounded on the table. Immediately, the room fell silent. "Now, Terrowin, if you would oblige, please, do tell us what this prophesy is. Preferably without the dramatic narrations and doomsday predictions, thank you," he snapped irritably, shooting a withering glance at Terrowin.

"Word for word?" Terrowin stalled.

"_Word. For. Word_."

"Very well, my Lord," Terrowin said shakily. He nervously twisted his hands together, trying to recall the exact words; his memory was not what it once was. His eyes took on a glazed, faraway look as he began to recite the words:

"_Earth, Air, Fire and Water,_

_4 Founders to save the wizard race;_

_3 of same, one of none, all united in cause. _

_But 4 less one, they shall fail to the ruin of all."_

The room was unusually silent for a few minutes after that, as the Leaders rocked back in their chairs and contemplated the prophesy presented. Terrowin took that as his cue to step down, and the scraping of his chair as he sat down was the only sound in the deathly still room.

After a few more minutes of prolonged, awkward silence, Lord Gryffindor and the rest of the Leaders stood up.

"This meeting goes to break now. We reconvene in precisely half an hour. Food and drinks are outside. Anyone not present in the room by the time the meeting is restarted shall be fed to the dragons," Lord Gryffindor stated brusquely, dismissing the councillors and exiting through the double door with a dramatic flourish of his robes.

The rest of the Leaders followed Lord Gryffindor's lead, and then the councillors, until the only people left in the room were the 4 heirs, Terrowin, and a few councillors who had evidently decided against participating in the drunken games of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Hippogriff which were often initiated on meeting breaks.

The heirs chatted amongst themselves, the ruckus of the prophesy reading having woken Matthew Malfoy from his ill-timed slumber.

Terrowin took the time to resume his survey of the heirs, who carried the future of the wizarding world on their young shoulders. Rowena looked much like her father, with curly black hair and dark blue eyes, but there was a soft wisdom to her features where her father's held cruel and hawk-like angles.

That only left the young Slytherin heir, Salazar. Like Rowena, he had black hair, but his was only slightly wavy, and he slicked his back into a ponytail most of the time. He had dark green eyes, sharp, angular features, and a calculating gleam in his eyes.

At the moment, Matthew and Salazar were engaged in a heated debate which Terrowin could not decipher. Godric was leaning back in his chair, eyes Rowena speculatively, and Rowena, who had somehow produced a book from the folds of her robes, was steadfastly ignoring him, choosing to read instead.

Having been woken from his usual nap by Clayton's summons, Terrowin was feeling a bit sleepy. He stifled a yawn, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes, determined to make up for lost sleep.

Rowena was quite aware of Godric's eyes trained on her, but she kept on reading, hoping he would give up and talk to Slytherin instead.

After enduring 10 minutes of his staring, she set her book down and turned to face him.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to read," she said breezily, fixing him with an icy stare before returning to her book. He merely grinned, taking her words as a challenge, and continued to stare at her, occasionally making faces and wiggling his eyebrows.

"You, sir, are a pain in the arse," she said, without even glancing up from the pages spread before her.

"Oo, she swears, too. So unladylike," Godric teased, leaning back further in his chair to observe Rowena's amusing expressions. He knew just how to irritate Rowena; in fact, Godric took pride in his uncannily efficient powers of irritation.

Just then, the double doors were flung wide open, and the Leaders entered, filing on to the platform and taking their seats.

Rowena sat up straighter, sparing a disparaging glance at Godric beside her, and tried to listen attentively. She dared a glance at her father beside her, and to her surprise, he was smiling his secret smile. But underneath the mystery was the unmistakeable gleam of triumph.

As she watched, he winked at her, then turned back to face the crowd.

Lord Gryffindor was speaking. Wondering if her father had lost his mind (or perhaps he was three sheets to the wind, she could never tell), she tried to focus on Lord Gryffindor's booming voice.

"... The Leaders have decided to obey the Founders prophecy. We have already decided on the named four. The Founders, as of this Council meeting, shall be... Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Matthew Malfoy, and Rowena Ravenclaw."

There was an uneasy murmur amongst the councillors below, but Lord Gryffindor continued, his eyes shining.

"And they shall have the _full_ support of _every_ councillor and wizarding family," he added, sensing the uneasy air about the room. "They are the future of our race." He sat back down, and while the councillors below resorted to hasty whispers, the Leaders clapped each other on the back and talked excitedly amongst themselves.

The meeting continued in much the same fashion for almost an hour and a half. As hard as she tried, Rowena could not get herself to concentrate on the meeting for more than a few minutes. Her mind kept running back to the Founders prophecy.

As a Founder, what, exactly, was she supposed to found? The answer jumped to her mind almost as soon as she thought the question.

A school. She had always wanted to found a school, to further the education of wizard children. Even among the heirs, the spells and theory they learned as children had been vastly different.

Godric was an expert dueller, but lacked skill in the area of Potions and healing. Matthew was incredible with Arithmancy calculations and Runes, but was useless in most practical areas, such as Transfiguration and Charms. Salazar was, conversely, quite adept at practical applications of magic.

It was exactly this kind of wild disparity between wizards that vexed Rowena. With a school, however, she could produce independent, well-rounded and knowledgeable witches and wizards. She could sharpen the skills and hone the minds of these children, transforming them from unmotivated and apathetic teens into thinking, functioning members of society.

A school could save the wizarding race from a future of bumbling dunderheads who couldn't tell one end of their wand from the other.

Her mind, adrift with the wild possibilities, only registered snippets of the conversation being held at the moment.

"...muggles, stealing our magic...destroying what we have worked so hard for...the first muggle-born magic user, and all those after her...shall be killed by any means possible.. oh, yes, that is a grand idea, Makin...yes...those who have been chosen, please meet with the Leaders later to discuss the plans..." And finally, the words she had been waiting to hear since this meeting began nearly 2 hours ago: "This Council meeting is now adjourned."


	3. Potted Plants and Eavesdropping

Just as the Council meeting ended, another one began and much to his chagrin, Godric was snagged by his father and dragged into yet another tedious meeting.

This one was much smaller, and held in the ballroom of Gryffindor manor. Only a select few had been chosen to attend it, among them the 4 Leaders, 3 of the heirs and several councillors whom Godric did not recognize.

Lord Gryffindor ordered a table be set up by the roaring fireplace and soon a veritable feast had sprung up in the ballroom. _This_, Godric thought as he sampled the delicious fare, _is my kind of meeting_. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a drag, and though Godric was not aware of it, it would soon become very interesting indeed.

"Now," Lord Gryffindor began, standing at the end of the table looking quite imperious. "You have been summoned to this, more _secret_, meeting on account of a few things, the least of which is your sobriety, loyalty and resourcefulness. Please, eat first. We will continue this meeting once we've all eaten. No sense carrying much longer on an empty stomach." Many cheers rose from a few councillors near the end of the table, and the meeting begun on high spirits.

Mathew and Salazar were seated on either side of Godric, and the three chatted amiably while the rest of the party ate.

"Where's Rowena?" Salazar asked suddenly, noticing the female heir was conspicuously absent from the proceedings. "Isn't she supposed to be here, too?"

"I would think so," Godric said slowly, glancing about the room for the familiar stately heiress.

Malfoy looked about as well, but shook his head. "I don't think this is a meeting she would likely be asked to attend," he supplied casually.

"Why not?" Godric asked, alerted by the secretive and all-too-well-informed note of Malfoy's voice.

"This is man's business, and Rowena had no place in it, heiress or not," Mathew replied matter-of-factly.

A potted ficus tree nearby shook slightly, but Mathew dismissed it as his imagination and the results of unhealthy amounts of alcohol. Ficus trees were not sentient beings and could not shake with rage.

"How do _you_ know what business this meeting is about, anyways, Malfoy?" Salazar snapped, annoyed with Mathew's attitude.

Mathew just smirked. "If you bothered to listen to _anything_ that was said at the council meeting, you would know."

Godric and Salazar were effectively silenced.

They said no more, and in time, the other councillors finished their meals and exchanged pleasantries while the servants cleared the table and the Leaders chatted amongst themselves.

"At last, we come to the business of this second meeting," Lord Gryffindor began. "I trust all of you now know about the problem of Muggle-born witches and wizards. Makin here-" he gestured towards a tall, lanky man of about 30 "-brought up a good suggestion for -ah, how do I put this delicately?- _dealing_ with them." At this, Mathew smiled a slow, dark, _knowing_ smile; the smile of a predator as it closes in on its helpless prey. Godric's chair scraped against the floor loudly as he shuffled away from Mathew.

Lord Gryffindor returned the smile, and all of the Leaders looked smugly satisfied, save Lord Malfoy, who was looking distressed and uneasy. Mathew noticed this, and sneered, an expression much more familiar and much less terrifying than his previous predatory smile.

Lord Gryffindor began pacing now, the excitement clear on his rugged face, an expression mirrored in Mathew's. "What Makin has suggested is witch hunts. The kinds the Muggles initiate against us. But if we could just... _harness _fear and hatred and direct it at Muggle-born witches, it would solve all our problems. The thing is, Muggles can't tell the difference between true wizards and those filthy _mudblooded, _magic-stealing wizards. And that's where _you_ come in," he said triumphantly, gesturing to all those seated around the room, including the heirs.

At this, Mathew stood up and took over from Lord Gryffindor. The two exchanged a knowing nod, and Mathew began. "If we disguise ourselves as Muggles and lead these hunts, we can eradicate this _disease_ amongst our kind. We'll direct attention away from true wizards while killing those filthy mudbloods and purifying our race."

Godric contained his annoyance at Mathew and his father. Since when had Malfoy become his father's wing man? Spitefully, Godric dumped salad dressing into Mathew's drink while his back was turned and grinned as Mathew sat back down and took a swig of his drink.

Godric was slightly disappointed that Mathew only managed a gargling cough and an expression of disgust. He had expected a more volatile reaction, and set about planning better pranks that all involved embarrassing Mathew in front of his father.

"It is indeed a perfect plan," Lord Ravenclaw piped up, "But how will _we_ know which Muggles have magical abilities? What if we accidentally kill our own kind?"

Lord Gryffindor bared his teeth in what could only be call a feral grimace. "I think I know how. We'll start a registration committee."

"And how will that help?" someone interrupted from the back, sounding sceptical.

"Pure-blooded families will register with us, and those possessing magic who are not registered will be killed by our hunting parties. Simple as that. Satisfied?" asked Lord Gryffindor sarcastically.

There were scattered nods of understanding, while those who were more sceptical wisely kept their uncertainty to themselves.

And all this while Rowena listened silently from behind a potted plant. She had sneaked in, dressed as a servant, and quickly disguised herself behind a ficus plant with a little charm of her own invention that rendered her invisible by way of camouflage. It was quite useful in times like this, sneaking into meetings she was forbidden to attend.

If curiosity killed the cat, then it was a stupid cat. Rowena was much smarter at going about her business. She wouldn't be found unless she wanted to be seen, and anyways, the silly men would never know of her eavesdropping, they were so transfixed with Lord Gryffindor's thinly disguised promises of war.

Listening to the matter, though, Rowena decided she was on neutral ground with regards to Muggle-born wizards. She didn't deny that they were of ancestry less noble than her own, but at the same time, she could not justify their rampant slaughter.

She shrugged, and decided not to become involved with the matter first-hand. She was, however, disappointed with Lord Gryffindor's pathetic plan.

Her quick, able mind had quickly devised a more efficient method of tracking the Muggle-born wizards. It was based on a map which she held in her hands, one that she had found in her mother's library, which her father had cordoned off as condemned when Lady Ravenclaw died, but which Rowena perused regularly anyways.

She had quickly found that the map tracked the movements of witches, wizards and other magical personnel within the Ravenclaw mansion. Rowena assumed they had used the map to keep an eye on the servants, and it was on this map that her entire plan rested.

Not that she wanted to get involved in the witch hunts and the unjustified slaughter of Muggleborns, but Lord Gryffindor's inefficient, clumsy plan greatly offended her innate sense of effectiveness and efficiency. Her plan would offer the best combination of ease of use and efficiency, not to mention that it would greatly boost her status amongst the Leaders and heirs.

The Leaders and councillors bantered back and forth for a good 5 minutes before Rowena could resist it no longer. She quickly moved out from behind the ficus, and tiptoed to the back of the room where she could remove the charm as unobtrusively as possible.

Muttering the counter spell, she stepped forward and quietly took the empty seat beside Salazar. She grinned smugly as Salazar almost fell out of his seat in surprise.

"Lord Gryffindor? Lord Gryffindor, excuse me for interrupting," she apologized graciously, standing up to address the meeting.

The entire room fell silent, and then there was Lord Ravenclaw's enraged shout of, "Who let the girl in here?"

"I'm sorry to have eavesdropped on this meeting, but I just couldn't resist," she continued apologetically, levelling her gaze at Lord Gryffindor, who was staring at her, dumbfounded. "But your plan seems a little... shaky. Uncertain. _Inefficient_." She would have continued with the adjectives, had Lord Gryffindor's face not turned a worrisome shade of purple. "Lord Gryffindor? Sir?"

Lord Gryffindor exploded into a rage, standing up so violently his chair was overturned. "Get out! I do _not_ need to take orders from _you_! _Get out_!" he repeated angrily when Rowena made no motion to leave.

Summoning as much courage as she could, she drew herself up to her full height, almost as tall as Lord Gryffindor, and stared at him coolly.

"I would appreciate it if you listened to what I have to say before you burst my eardrums with all your shouting and whatnot."

"What do you have to say that I do not?" His rage simmered beneath the surface of his threatening demeanour, but his face had returned to a more healthy colour. At the very least, Rowena was no longer worried about him dropping dead from a coronary.

"A good idea." She hadn't meant it to come out so insultingly confident and arrogant, but Lord Gryffindor's rage only increased as he listened with rising aggravation. Godric quickly disguised his snort of laughter as a cough and received several glares and Salazar's amused smirk.

"Really? How charming. I wasn't away that you could _think_, much less come up with a viable plan," he shot back scathingly.

"I'm afraid there are many things you are not aware of, Lord Gryffindor," Rowena retorted calmly, despite the fact that the look on Lord Gryffindor's face was now once flushed angrily.

Both Godric and Salazar descended into violent fits of coughing, while Malfoy glared at Rowena with undisguised hatred.

Lord Gryffindor shouted something incoherent, probably a profanity, and pointed his wand at Rowena menacingly.

The room, silent until then, erupted into chaos. Salazar was trying to pull Rowena down into her seat and simultaneously disarming Mathew, who had shot a particularly nasty hex at Rowena. Godric was barely containing his laughter as he watched his father struggle with a scathing comeback to Rowena's razor-sharp wit, and Lord Ravenclaw was almost in tears, mortified at his daughter's behaviour, apologizing profusely to Lord Gryffindor.

"You have exactly _one minute before I hex you to oblivion!_" Lord Gryffindor bellowed.

The room went silent again, and Rowena pulled the map out of her pocket after shaking Salazar off her arm and fixing him with an icy glare. "This map traces the movements of witches and wizards, and with a little tweaking and your registration idea, we can accurately trace the locations of Muggle-born wizards with pin-point accuracy," she finished calmly, just as Lord Gryffindor prepared to hex her.

Lord Ravenclaw, recognizing the map as his, began to protest loudly, but Lord Gryffindor shushed him.

"Let me see it," he demanded suspiciously, lowering his wand. Rowena walked to the head of the table and handed him the map. He studied it intently, then nodded slowly as he stowed the map in the pocket of his robes. He could not deny the ingenuity and efficiency of Rowena's plan. Rather than duel another losing verbal battle against Rowena, he decided flattery was the best route to go. He smiled at her graciously, and nodded.

"An excellent idea." He dismissed Rowena, then consulted the Leaders briefly.

He produced a piece of parchment and several quills and wells of ink, then laid them out on the table. "Those interested in participating in the witch hunts, sign up here. We will be sending out owls for registration later this week. Next week, we reconvene, and the witch hunts begin. Dismissed."

The room emptied quickly, after a brief flurry of activity as the councillors signed up for the witch hunts, and soon the only ones left in the room were the Leaders and their heirs.

"Rowena, see if you can get me a working prototype of your map. I want it to cover all of Britain," Lord Gryffindor said, handing Rowena back the magical map with an apologetic smile. Rowena merely took the map and disapparated to her room in the Ravenclaw mansion without a word, although she grinned smugly at Lord Gryffindor's back when he turned to address the heirs. She knew she had won this battle.

"Mathew, Salazar and Godric, you'll be the leaders of these hunts. Here's the list. Choose your men. We'll assemble exactly a week from now, once Rowena has the map working and we've got a list of registered families." Lord Gryffindor handed out copies of the lists to each of the remaining heirs, who then went their separate ways.

"And as for us," Lord Gryffindor said, gesturing to the Leaders with a slow smile, "We've got owls to send."

* * *

**A/N:** **Yes, I'm sorry for yet another long, boring chapter, but hopefully Rowena's scathing wit at least kept you from pulling your hair out in exasperation. =) The interesting part begins after this chapter, I swear. Love to those who have reviewed, you make my days a bit better. Also, since I didn't have time to update last Sunday, today, you my lovely readers will get 2 new chapters instead of just one. Enjoy! **

___Disclaimer: the Harry Potter Universe and all recognizable names, places, ideas, etc belong to J. K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing their awesomeness for the purpose of this story._  



	4. Shattered

"Helga, Helga, look what I found!" Carrie exclaimed, bouncing up to Helga with an expression of rapt excitement.

"Stop bouncing," Helga scolded gently, but smiled at her younger sister. With difficultly, the little girl kept still, and opened her hand to show Helga what she'd found.

A tiny caterpillar was in the palm of her hand, a wriggling yellow and black mass. Carrie looked utterly aglow with pride. "Isn't he cute?" She beamed.

"He is positively adorable," Helga assured Carrie.

"Can I keep him, Helga, please?"

Helga sighed, and tried to look stern, but it was difficult to look into Carrie's brilliant green eyes and not be swayed by their childlike innocence and happiness. She crouched down to Carrie's height, and looked solemnly into her sparkling eyes. "We should let him go, Carrie. He probably misses his family," she explained.

Carrie pouted. "But I don't want to. I already named him. His name is Albert. And he's so cute…"

"And so are you, but you wouldn't want people taking you from your house for no reason. Even if he is adorable, he should go back to his home." Helga smiled, encouraging Carrie as she carefully picked up the caterpillar and put him on a nearby tree.

"Bye-bye, Albert," she said sadly, watching the little yellow and black creature wriggle away. Helga felt her own strange pang of sadness as Carrie turned back to her, but it passed just as quickly as it had appeared.

Helga easily swung Carrie's tiny frame into her arms and settled her youngest sister on her hip. "Now, let's go see about those berries mother wanted us to pick."

Carrie's eye widened as she smiled, having already forgotten Albert. "We're making jam?"

Helga smiled again, and nodded, much to Carrie's delight. "We get jam, we get jam," she chanted in a sing-song voice all the way to the house, where their mother and the rest of their siblings were waiting with buckets in hand.

"Remember, Helga. Raspberries," Elisa said with a solemn nod of her head.

"Raspberries!" the rest of the children exclaimed in unison, as if it were the most exciting time of their lives to go picking berries with their oldest sister.

Elisa laughed, and gently pushed her children towards Helga. "Now, be careful. And make sure you pick me lots of raspberries!"

She leaned against the door frame, and watched as her kids filed out, chanting about raspberries and jam. There was Helga, her oldest, almost 17, in the lead; Richard, who was 13, towing the troublesome twins Carrie and Joseph, both now 7, behind him; and lastly, Faith, the solemn 10 year old.

She sighed, and watched them disappear around the bend in the road.

The Hufflepuffs lived in an large valley at the edge of a small village, with distant mountains, and miles of untouched forest stretching off toward the jagged horizon. Several other families lived in the same valley, and they coexisted peacefully with the Hufflepuffs. It was a quiet way of life, but they made do, and all were happy.

Elisa smiled again as a hand touched her waist, and she unconsciously leaned back into her husband's chest, surveying their land with a sigh of content.

"They'll be fine, Elisa," Tristan rumbled slowly, kissing to top of his wife's head with a tenderness that belied his immense size.

"I know… I love you," she sighed happily, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments

Tristan smiled. "I love you too." He tilted her chin back, and kissed her forehead lovingly as the golden July sunshine smiled warmly down upon them.

- - - - - -

Helga rested against an apple tree, and watched as her siblings frolicked among the raspberry bushes, laughing, their cheerful faces smeared with raspberries; in fact, more berries ended up on their faces and in their mouths than in their buckets. Helga's own bucket was filled, and she was just about to gather the kids when the tingling started.

It began at her feet, and worked its way up her legs with an uncomfortable heat. At first it was just a prickling sensation, but heat grew to unbearable pain, and it was all she could do not to scream out in agony. She looked down at her feet, surprised not to see flames writhing where there should be an inferno by now.

Something was terribly wrong.

She quickly gathered the children, and told them to stay in the orchard. "I'll be right back, I promise," she whispered, and gave them each a swift hug before running for the house.

They could only have been gone for a few hours in the orchard, but the valley, then peaceful and drowsy, was now bustling with people. Smoke choked the air and stained the perfectly blue, cloudless sky, and people were jeering, laughing, and swinging pitchforks and torches in the air.

Above it all was the rising screams and shrieks, piercingly loud and filled with an unspeakable agony, the same agony that twisted through her own limbs and clouded her mind.

Her heart dropped to her feet with a sickening lurch as it dawned on her what was happening. Someone was being burned at the stake, but who, and why did it feel like she was in the inferno with them? She ruthlessly suppressed the feeling of dread and bile rising in her throat as she shoved herself through the crowd, not caring that she was throwing herself into an angry mob.

Helga's scream caught in her throat as she reached the front of the mob. There, both tied to stakes surrounded by an inferno of twisting, angry flames, were her mother and father. The sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh filled her lungs, and choked back another scream. Her heart dropped to her feet.

She ran for them, crying and screaming, not knowing what to do, only knowing that she had to do something, anything.

The mob, realizing that Helga had broken through, pulled her back from the pyres and battered her back into the crowd. "Let the witches burn! Cleanse them of their devilry!" a soot-stained, leering man shouted at her. He jabbed his pitchfork at the pillars of flame in emphasis. He was smiling, but it was an evil smile, a smile filled with the pleasure of watching two innocents burn for a crime they had not committed.

"They're not witches!" she screamed through her tears. "They're my parents!" She twisted away from grabbing hands, trying to reach her parents again. Where was the knife she always carried in her pocket?

"Burn the witch-child! Burn the witch-child!" The voices of the mob rang out again, and this time they directed their jeers at Helga.

"I'm not a witch!" she shrieked again, trying to escape the hands that groped for her.

"Burn her!" others chanted. She looked up into the face of a handsome young man with curly brown hair, a few years older than herself at most, whose chanting was the loudest. "_Burn her!_"

Helga ran from the burning bodies of he parents, now trying to save her own life. She sobbed, knowing she was leaving her parents to die. But she couldn't do anything. Terror drove her legs faster and faster as she sprinted away from the sickening sight.

The mob followed, while the screams of her parents reached their piercing climax and died off abruptly. Only the sick jeers of the mob and the crackling of flames remained as Helga ran for her life.

* * *

**A/N: Ironic, I know. The one interesting chapter I have, and it's super short. But at last, we are out of the boring chapters and into much more interesting territory. :)**

**-General Pajama Pants**

**_Disclaimer: the Harry Potter Universe and all recognizable names, places, ideas, etc belong to J. K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing their awesomeness for the purpose of this story._  
**


	5. Just Around The Bend

Yes, yes, I realize this is a tad off from my usual update days on Sunday, but the site login was down that day, and I figured my loyal readers (whom I'd like to thank, by the way, for giving me the motivation when I lacked it) deserved a chapter in the middle of the week to make up for my lack of discernible scheduling and intrinsic motivational skills. :) Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

All that was left of her parents she held in her hands. The small golden goblet was all that remained of her parents' wedding china. It had been a beautiful set, handmade by her uncle and treasured by her parents.

And now, all that was left of its former splendour was one small goblet. Everything else, their clothes, possessions, even their house, had gone up in flames after the mob had finished with her parents. She and her siblings had barely escaped with their lives; what little they managed to salvage from the house, they had tied up in burlap sacks and slung over the shoulders of their 2 remaining horses, which had thankfully not strayed far after the fire.

It had been the only bit of luck they'd had.

Helga sighed, tucked the goblet away in the folds of her thin jacket, and trudged on through the undergrowth.

"Are we there yet?" Carrie asked wearily from her perch atop the horse Helga was leading. Behind her, Joseph was almost asleep, yet Carrie resisted the drowsy swaying of the horse's gait and stayed stubbornly awake to plague Helga with relentless questions.

"No, Carrie. I don't even know where we're going yet," she admitted feebly.

The weary procession was completed by Richard, who led the second horse, a large draft loaded down with supplies and Faith's sleeping body.

"Where are we going?" Carrie persisted. Helga whacked aside a low-hanging branch, and they entered a small clearing.

"We'll camp here overnight, I guess," she said quietly, ignoring her youngest sister's question.

Carrie and the sleeping Joseph and Faith were pulled down off their mounts and quietly laid down on a blanket while Richard and Helga began to set up a makeshift tent.

"Are we sleeping on the ground? Helga, what happened to our beds? Why can't we go home? I want to go home, Helga." An endless barrage of questions, a mindless drone in the background while the two oldest Hufflepuffs tried to make the dark and dreary forest a temporary home.

Helga attempted to start a fire, but was unable to spark much of anything from the two stones she'd found on the ground.

"Helga, I'm cold," Carrie whimpered from inside the tent.

Helga sighed, and crawled inside. "I know," she said, pulling Carrie onto her lap. Despair flooded her like a bucket of ice water.

So much had gone wrong. How could they go on? She was just 16; she couldn't look after her 4 siblings like her mother had. She couldn't provide them with the life they deserved. They would be nomads for the rest of their lives, wandering from place to place, never fitting in, never lingering anywhere long enough build a new life.

They would hang on to the scraps of their old life, never truly letting go of their loving parents and moving on. No, she decided, the best they could do was endure. Not survive, not live, just endure.

"Helga," Carrie's small voice bought her back to a painful reality. "What happened to mom and dad?"

"Well… Some people came, and they didn't like mom and dad, so they… they killed them."

"Why didn't they like mom and dad? They were so nice."

"Because they thought mom and dad were witches."

"What's wrong with being a witch, Helga?"

"I don't know, Carrie. Go to sleep."

Just when Helga thought Carrie had fallen asleep, the little voice piped up again, this time much quieter and drowsy. "Helga, is this what Albert felt like?"

Albert? Slowly it dawned on Helga who Albert was; it seemed like a forever ago when she and Carrie had sat in the forest and admired that fuzzy yellow caterpillar.

"Yes… Yes, I suppose so."

- - - - -

The next day brought a dark and sunless dawn to the forest clearing, and the procession set out again, wandering aimlessly amongst the forest trails.

"Richard, you climb up with Faith. I can take the horse for you," Helga offered, even though each step she took was a monumental effort. Richard silently handed her the lead and climbed up behind Faith, his brown eyes, so like their father's, solemn and weary.

The lead weight of depression pressed down on Helga's chest, making each breath a straining effort, but she stumbled on. Thankfully, the trail was wide and flat, unlike the twisted, root-strewn paths of before.

They must be getting close to something; she wasn't sure whether to be excited or cautious of what might lie ahead. Perhaps it was a farm, but so far into the wilderness it was unlikely to find any sign of civilization, no matter how small.

The trip was taking its toll on the children; even Carrie, who usually had so much energy, was silent for once. Faith was her usual quiet self, and Joseph was also strangely reserved. Richard wasn't normally inclined to talk, so his silence was not unusual, and Helga found herself revelling in the silence, despite its mournful tone.

She had shed her tears late at night, when everyone else was asleep. It felt better that way. The rest of her family was shaken, but not as much as Helga; they hadn't seen and heard their parents' dying moments, writhing in a pillar of cruel flame and the shouts of perversely happy townsfolk. Helga had felt their pain, too, in an odd way. Their pain fed her own; now she carried the burden of 4 other endless wells of sadness in addition to her own.

But perhaps she was just imagining things, being melodramatic. Everyone felt this way after a traumatic experience, didn't they?

- - - - -

For the next few weeks, they travelled through the woods on those wide, flat paths, hoping they were nearing a shred of civilization, but at every bend in the path seeing only an endless winding ribbon of dirt tracks twisting deeper into the shadowy forest.

There was barely enough food for the five of them, and Helga, having never learned any form of hunting, could only gather a meagre supply of plants and nuts. They were all weakening rapidly, and soon, they would perish.

However, the horses, used to hard work, stayed in top shape. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying the outing, as if it were a reward for all their years of backbreaking labour.

The trees thinned out suddenly, and Helga urged the horses faster, hoping against everything in her heart that there was a house up ahead. But it was only a large field, and at its furthest flung edges, the forest began again.

Helga, all hope thoroughly crushed, looked up at the sky for an explanation, but something caught her eye. Above the tree line, a steady column of smoke rose, staining the sky. There was no mistaking the smoke from a chimney, swirled up among the white clouds.

Although it was the most concrete evidence of human life they had seen so far, Helga was reluctant to feel hopeful again. She merely tugged on the lead ropes, rousing Richard from his nap. He looked at the sky, and nodded. Like Helga, he quelled the hope rising in his chest; it was merely another disappointment waiting to spring, like so many they'd endured in the past weeks.

The sky darkened before they could reach the source of the smoke, so Helga decided to set up camp in a small thicket, well concealed from view of the path.

The night passed easily enough; nothing was amiss as Helga came back from a quick perimeter check and laid down in the tent to catch elusive sleep, and fell quickly into peaceful darkness.

She woke up to bright lights and screaming. Helga attempted to scramble to her feet, still fully clothed, but something sharp jabbed into her throat, and she gasped, falling back onto her makeshift bed. She heard the insistent wailing of Carrie and the rest of her siblings outside, alarmed and frantic.

A tall, black-haired man loomed over her, a sturdy sword pointed straight at her chest.

Carrie's screaming reached a new pitch outside, and with a jolt Helga realized that she had screams like that before.

It was the scream of her parents burning at the stake.

- - - - -

"This is perfect," Rowena declared.

"I can't believe you want to found a school. How on _earth_ will we save the wizarding world with a _school_?" Godric asked with a touch of derision. No, not really derision, she decided. Godric was much too polite and formal and of the opinion that women were fragile creatures not deserving of the harsh realities of life to really express his feelings in such a way. Perhaps that was just his surprise.

Either way, Rowena ignored him. She didn't really know why she was so drawn to founding a school, but it just seemed right. Perhaps she was heading in the wrong direction. A pang of insecurity warned her that she could be dooming the rest of the wizarding race, but what else was she supposed to do?

The prophecy hadn't spoken of _how_ they would save wizards, but just that they _had to_; and so far, she was the only one who had any semblance of a good idea.

"You know, Godric is right," Mathew began in a tone Rowena immediately disliked.

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any better ideas, _Malfoy_," she spat, jabbing her want threateningly at him.

He merely sneered. "I could have sworn that Godric over here was the _leader_ of this whole expedition. In fact, Lord Gryffindor made that _quite clear_."

Her face flamed, but Rowena conceded, mustering as much pride as she could as she reined her horse back, letting Godric take her place at the front of the party.

She stewed in her silence for the rest of the ride, while the men laughed and joked just ahead. When they had passed the imposing castle gates and reached a shimmering black lake, they all dismounted and tied their horses to the trees at the edge of an endless forest.

The 4 heirs walked in silence to the castle. Nothing more was said about Godric leading; he had taken command of the expedition. His air of authority, like his father's, was irrefutable.

They entered the castle via large double doors. Almost immediately, Rowena knew it was right. It would make a perfect school; the school of her dreams. _Her_ school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Already, she was running through a list of names in her mind, barely listening to Godric conversing with Mathew and Salazar. She didn't care about what they were saying; all she cared about was her school.

No longer _theirs_, but _hers_. It didn't matter that the prophecy said 4 Founders. This school, this idea, and everything that came of it, was hers. The others didn't have the vision she had.

This school would succeed, and it would succeed because of her. Perhaps when she was dead and gone, the history books would immortalize her as the brightest, most successful witch ever. She liked the idea of being such a powerful figure, of having a big brass plaque under a beautiful portrait that read, _Rowena Ravenclaw, the brightest witch in history. _

"Rowena. _Rowena_." Salazar prodded her shoulder uncertainly. Rowena, her reverie disturbed yet again, turned to face him, scowling.

"We're going on a tour of the castle," he informed her. The frown melted off her face, replaced with new wonder and joy, her blue eyes lighting up beautifully.

Salazar could see something just behind that happiness, but he couldn't quite place it. All he knew was that it made him slightly uneasy, as if Rowena were hiding something important, and that she was quite beautiful. He hadn't noticed that before, he mused idly to himself.

Disregarding his unease and Rowena's sudden attractiveness, he offered his arm to her, and gestured in the direction Godric and Mathew were heading. Rowena slipped her arm through his, and they started after the other founders, the coil of unease still in Salazar's stomach despite his attempts at squelching it.

"Why did you think of a school?" Salazar asked suddenly. He didn't look at her as he asked, just stared straight ahead, as if ignoring her. Only the slight inclination of his head told Rowena he was waiting for her response. "Of all things, a school to save the wizarding race?" His tone lacked the insulting surprise of Godric's.

"I don't know," she said simply, shrugging. She couldn't explain to him her feeling that this school was simply _right_. She knew he wouldn't understand, so she left her remark to hang in the silence between them.

Salazar cast a sideways glance at her, but said nothing, only nodding as he returned his impersonal gaze towards the looming double doors ahead, where Godric and Mathew were already waiting.

Everything about the castle was grand, Rowena thought as they entered the room beyond the doors, including this room.

Vaulted cathedral ceilings, huge stained glass windows, everything implied the rich opulence and splendour of a man with too much time and money, and a big dream. A dream Rowena now shared. Whoever had built this castle, whatever stories lay hidden in its winding corridors, Rowena felt a connection.

She knew, concretely now, that this castle was perfect.

But she couldn't shake her conviction that something _else_ was off, something infuriatingly simple but just beyond her reach.

- - - - -

The room itself was bare, and in this state was its elegance and sheer size shown off best. Their voices echoed throughout the massive room.

"Well," Mathew said, impressed. Yes, it was a beautiful piece of architecture. It would make a lovely manor, he thought to himself as he admired the arched windows and vaulted ceiling. Yes, it would certainly make a statement among guests. He nodded in approval.

If only stupid Rowena hadn't insisted on making it into a school, he would have bought it himself. For when he was the richest, most influential man in the wizarding world. He cast a sly glance at Godric, who was busy running his hands over the stone walls and mumbling something to himself.

The Gryffindors wouldn't be the most powerful for much longer, if Mathew would have anything to say about it. And he certainly would.

When he was powerful, he wouldn't have to sit around that stupid Leaders table, listening to the rest of the heirs simpering about themselves and their boring lives and pretending to care.

No, soon he would be in Godric's place, and that would all change. No longer would the Malfoy house be known as the house of the heart, and those who had shunned him for so long would pay for their ignorance.

And his family, his trusting, naive, _stupid_ family would never see it coming.

- - - - - -

Godric rejoined the group, and suggested lightly that they should tour the rest of the castle. He wasn't particularly looking forward to walking through every corridor of the massive place, but then, he was just here to humour Rowena.

That was the only reason any of them had come here, save Rowena, who seemed genuinely excited about the whole thing.

He kept on smiling, enjoying the company of his friends, but secretly wishing for the tour to end. It was stupid to think that a school of all things would save the wizarding race, assuming of course that the wizarding race needed saving at all.

Once the tour was finished, and Rowena was gushing to Salazar about her plans and her thoughts, Godric slipped outside and went to sit down by the lake where the horses were tied.

He needed time away from all the plans for the school and Rowena's painful enthusiasm to just _think_. Be alone for a while. He rested under the shade of the tree, and willed himself to relax.

So much was resting on his shoulders, from leading the witch-hunts to dealing with founding the school, Godric had been swamped. His father was pushing him ruthlessly in a direction he didn't want to go, but Godric felt compelled to obey.

After all, Lord Gryffindor was his father, and Godric wanted nothing more than to please him. That was the most important thing to Godric; if he failed at that, how would he ever face his family again?

His father would be proud of his only son.

Godric would make sure of it.


	6. Temporary Home

"Oh, heavens, Nicholas, you'll scare the poor girl to death!" an elderly man exclaimed as he peered through the tent flap at Helga. The black-haired man holding the sword quickly returned the weapon to its sheath, and scowled at the old man, who was smiling kindly at Helga.

"Dear me, don't mind Nicholas here," said the man with a dismissive wave of his hand, "He has a flair for dramatic entrances. Can you please come outside, dear, and calm your children down? Their squealing is dreadfully painful for my old ears."

Helga, too stunned to speak, got to her feet slowly and followed the old man outside. Tears flooded her eyes when she saw Carrie, Joseph, Faith and Richard huddled together by their horses. They were safe.

Carrie was the first to notice Helga. With a sob, she flung herself at Helga's legs, hugging them so tightly Helga could hardly maintain her balance. With similar cries, Faith and Joseph launched themselves at Helga. Only Richard kept his distance, but he managed a small smile when Helga glanced at him.

"It's okay, it's okay," she chanted, hugging her siblings, relieved beyond words that they were safe. Then she remembered Nicholas and the old man, and her relief was quickly subdued.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the elderly man, who had been conversing quietly with Nicholas off to the side of their camp.

Neither of the men heard. Instead, Nicholas had thrown his sword down angrily at the old man's feet and stormed off, grumbling incoherently. The elderly man turned back to her, shaking his head and smiling.

"I'm sorry about Nicholas. He's just difficult."

"Why are you here?" Helga repeated. She could feel Carrie's sobs slowing and subsiding into sniffles and occasional hiccups.

At this, the elderly man looked amused. "I think the more pertinent question is, what are you doing here?"

Helga swallowed. "What do you mean? We were just camping here for the night."

"Well, it seems you've chosen to camp on my land," he replied with a smile.

"Oh. Your land." Everything clicked into place. She swallowed again. "I-I'm so sorry. We'll be leaving now, anyways. I'm sorry," she repeated, backing away from the man and lifting Carrie, Joseph and Faith onto the backs of their 2 horses.

"Do you need a place to stay?" he asked, smiling kindly. He knows, Helga thought. He knows we're orphans. He looked trustworthy, she decided. An elderly man with greying hair and sparkling blue eyes and a kindly, wrinkled face.

Perhaps maybe for a night or two. She looked at Carrie and the rest of her siblings, taking in their bedraggled appearance, the depressing hollows beneath their dull eyes. They deserved better than to wander the woods like an emaciated band of wolves.

She turned to the old man slowly, blinking back tears as she realized that she had yet again failed her parents, her siblings; everyone that mattered in their time of need. "Maybe for a little while," she whispered, nodding at the old man.

His face broke out into a smile, and Helga was immediately reminded of her grandfather. That's who he looks like, she thought. They needed a grandfather, she thought as she glanced back at her bedraggled, depressed siblings. We need someone.

"Follow me," he said, beckoning to Helga, "I'll take you home."

"We're going home, Helga," Carrie whispered excitedly, smiling down at Helga from her perch on the horse. It was a smile of utter happiness, a smile like sunshine breaking through clouds. It was the first time in many, many weeks that Carrie had smiled.

Home. Helga smiled tentatively; she liked that.

The forest thinned gradually, huge meadows opening before them, wide expanses of waving green grass as far as they could see.

It took half an hour at most to reach the valley, but the trip was worth it; it was breathtaking view.

All around the valley spanned a thick forest, growing for miles in every direction. At the furthest end of the valley, directly opposite from where Helga stood, the horizon spiked up in a jagged line of slate grey, snow-capped mountains.

The valley itself was lush, a patchwork of pastures, fields of grains and crops, and tall log buildings with a lazy, winding river running the length of it. A rickety house with a slightly smoking chimney was in the middle of the valley, and paths like the spokes of wagon wheels snaked out from the house to join everything together.

It was so much like home that Helga felt homesick. The old man, who had introduced himself as Larry Evans, smiled at Helga. He always seemed to be smiling his sweet old smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners with perpetual laugh lines, like he spent his entire life smiling. And for some reason, Helga could believe it. He was the most cheerful person she had ever met. She couldn't imagine a frown in place of his friendly smile. It seemed almost criminal, wrong.

"Martha is already cooking," he observed, gesturing to the smoking chimney. "We should hurry, before the boys eat everything." This time, he laughed, and Carrie giggled with him.

A sidelong glance at Carrie confirmed Helga's suspicions. This place was already like home to Carrie. Even sweet, reserved Joseph, and shy Faith were warming up to Larry.

The thought put a warmth in Helga's heart.

They had finally found someone to take care of them. They wouldn't suffer with Larry and Martha, not like they did with me, Helga thought.

She didn't know which feeling was more powerful: that she had found someone like a long-lost grandfather to watch over her siblings, or that she had failed in doing so by herself.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity. When they reached the house, a plump, kindly old lady immediately showered them with hugs and greetings, and invited them all inside with a motherly air of efficiency.

The inside of the house was homely, furnished with threadbare couches and rickety tables, with a large kitchen. The smell hit her like a wave, the smell of fresh-baked bread and stew and everything she thought she would never smell again after her parents died.

And here were Martha and Larry, like surrogate grandparents, taking them in, giving them a home and willing to trust them, even though they were just a band of bedraggled orphans. All at once, Helga was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude for Larry and his wife.

"Thank you," she said shakily, as Martha ushered them to the large kitchen table, where an assortment of food was laid out for them.

Martha just smiled, and gave her a one-armed hug. "Oh, it's nothing," she said dismissively, but her eyes twinkled as she smiled. Carrie and Joseph sat on one side of Helga, and Richard and Faith on the other.

Helga hadn't noticed it before, but the table was huge, with 12 chairs fitting around its perimeter. Just how big was the Evans' family? she wondered. She had a terrible feeling of encroaching on an already stretched family.

Larry went outside again, calling an assortment of names, as Martha set the bread and stew on the already laden table and took her seat at one end of the table. The seat opposite hers was obviously Larry's, and that left the 5 chairs directly across from her. Assuming the family only used on half of the table, there were 5 more kids outside. 5, in addition to Helga's 5.

She watched guiltily as exactly 5 more children filed in, all boys, faces smudged and laughing. They took their places silently when they noticed Helga and her siblings at the table. Among them, Helga recognized Nicholas, who seemed about her age, perhaps a little older. He glared at her with eyes like flint, eyes that said, go away, nobody wants you, you're just a burden.

She looked down at her plate, feeling even more guilty than before.

The meal passed in almost utter silence, and when Larry and his boys left, Martha and Helga cleared the table together.

When they were finished, Martha ushered them upstairs and showed them their rooms. They were sparsely furnished, but cozy, like the main floor. Carrie, Joseph and Faith all slept in the same room with Helga, and Richard slept in a separate room down the hall.

They spent the next few days there, and Helga knew the time was drawing near. The time for them to leave.

At first, she was appalled by the idea. How could she leave when this place was already like home to all of them? Larry, Martha and their children had taken them in and treated them like family. She knew Larry and Martha loved Carrie and Joseph and Faith like their own children.

But what of Helga and Richard? They were past the loveable, endearing stage of childhood where Carrie, Joseph and Faith were showered with love by everyone who they met. They were almost adults. Liabilities.

No, Helga decided, they would have to move on soon. It pained her, but deep down she knew it was right. Nicholas had already disliked her from the beginning, but now, every morning he saw her his glares became more and more hostile and angry. He had one message for her: get out.

She knew he was right, and she knew that he knew he was right. His gloating expression was quite demonstrative of that.

When she woke up the next morning and proceeded to wake her siblings, a feeling of dread weighed her heart again for the first time since they'd arrived a week ago.

A week of decent food and shelter had done wonders for the children. Before haggard and emaciated, Carrie and Faith were glowing with youthful health.

But when she carefully woke Joseph, she knew he was sick. His face was pale, with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. She laid he back of her hand across his forehead, like her mother used to do to check Helga's temperature, and recoiled in horror; he was burning up with a raging fever.

With dismay, she noted his dull eyes and his limp body.

"Carrie," she said in a whisper, "Go get Martha, quickly, please." She blinked back tears as she watched the faint rise and fall of Joseph's chest. When Carrie and Faith had disappeared to fetch Martha, she sat down at the edge of the bed, wrapped her arms around his frail little body, and wept.

"It's all my fault," she whispered through her tears. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

I'm so evil, making my readers wait an extra week for a ridiculously short chapter update and making Helga's life a living hell (it will get better, eventually. Have no fear.) I am also sorry for the crappy editing on this, because I'm currently posting this at 10:00 pm the night before a huge physics exam. ^^ Anyways, the title song for this chapter is Temporary Home, by Carrie Underwood. Search it up on Youtube. =)


	7. Finishing Touches

After what seemed like years of filling out paperwork and requests and all the necessary applications for founding a wizarding school, Rowena sat back in her chair and observed the handiwork of her fellow Founders. The Great Hall, which had formerly been a huge, barren room, was now outfitted with various tapestries and 2 long tables for their students to sit at.

Rowena still hadn't figured out how to supply so many ravenous children with enough food, but, in time that would come. Right now, she had more pressing worries. Like the fact that the school was 3 days away from officially opening and they still had not planned out anything in the way of a decent curriculum, or even what subjects to teach.

"Arithmancy! I call dibs on Arithmancy!" Mathew shouted from across the table. Rowena raised an eyebrow, and continued sorting the papers aimlessly. Who would have thought Malfoy of all people would want to teach Arithmancy? She shook her head, amazed as always about the little quirks her friends had that she'd never noticed until now.

Of course, living in a giant castle and running a school together was bound to bring them all closer together. It was an uncomfortable and hurried way of getting to know each others best and worst sides, but they were still friends after 3 months of preparing the school, and that had to be a good sign, Rowena thought.

"Fine. But I get Potions," Salazar snapped.

"Transfiguration!" Godric called.

They all turned to Rowena, who had remained silent the entire meeting. They were finally ironing out the curriculum, and so far, Rowena was not particularly impressed. They needed a more rounded curriculum. What they had come up with was awfully narrow, aimed only at the interests of the founders.

"Charms. But we should have more subjects, a wider range. We want to please _all_ our students, and provide them the best education possible," she explained crisply, looking at each of them in turn.

They all deflated. The prospect of putting actual effort into a school none of them had wanted to found disintegrated their initial enthusiasm.

"I'm serious," she said plaintively when she noticed their lacklustre expressions, "If we're going to found a school, we've got to do it right. Please, just listen to me this once."

Godric sighed, and nodded. Ever the optimist, he replied, "Of course it'll work out. Now, what is it exactly you had in mind for our curriculum?"

Rowena flashed him a grateful smile. His opinion was the only one that really mattered. For all she cared, Malfoy and Slytherin could go drown in their own self-inflated egos. So long as she had Godric's support, she would get her way.

"I was thinking Astronomy, and maybe something to do with magical plants and animals. Oh, and we also need a library," she began, listing off the items of her wish list, "History of Magic, too, maybe. And we still need to figure out just how we'll sort these students."

"What do you mean, sort?" Salazar asked, furrowing his brow. Rowena turned to him, as always, feeling the jolt of his endless green eyes meeting hers. Something fluttered in her stomach, but she repressed it ruthlessly. They were planning a school, for God's sake. They had no time for wild flights of fancy and butterflies and sunshine and all that lovey-dovey stuff.

"Well, I don't exactly know. Just organizing them into what they would be best suited to. I don't like having things jumbled together in a mess."

"So now students are a mess to be sorted," Mathew drawled mockingly, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

"You know what I mean!" she flared angrily. "I just think we should sort them into similar groups and interests, so we could perhaps tailor the curriculum to suit their individual needs."

Mathew rolled his eyes. "But just a minute ago, you said you wanted each student to have a 'well rounded education', did you not? Doesn't this sorting idea go against that?" He smirked when she met his cool gray eyes with a vicious glare.

"_I just want some organization, is that too much to ask_?!" she shrieked, banging her fist against the table.

The silence was palpable as Rowena sat down again, smoothing her dress and looking for all the world like a prim and proper lady. Only the ringing in their ears was evidence that Rowena had lost her composure.

Salazar cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well... um. I think it's a good idea. We could all use... a little organization."

"Okay," Godric agreed.

"Alright. That's settled then."

"I think this meeting is over now."

"Okay."

"Sounds good."

Rowena had already worked out the timetables, figured out how to sort the students, and generally done mostly everything since the disastrous meeting 2 weeks ago. 3 new teachers had been hired to take on the extra subjects, the common rooms were furnished, and almost everything was sorted out for the first day the school opened.

"Rowena, Rowena, look what I found!" Godric exclaimed, bounding into her office with both hands behind his back. She glanced up from the timetables warily, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know. What?"

He grinned, and somehow he reminded Rowena of a large, enthusiastic puppy. From behind his back, he pulled a shiny, black pointed hat.

"Isn't it great?" he asked, setting the hat on Rowena's desk with a look of smug satisfaction.

She frowned, and lightly dusted a speck of dirt off the hat. "Yes, it's quite-"

"AARRGGHH! THAT'S MY EYE!"

Rowena shrieked at the sound of the gruff voice, falling out of her chair in surprise. From a tear near the brim of the hat, profanities and cries of pain issued loudly enough to mask Rowena's cursing.

Godric burst into hysterical laughter; his poor attempt at masking it with a cough only made it worse. Rowena glared at him, and tried to get back up from her rather compromising position with what little pride she could salvage.

Godric extended a hand to help her up, but it was shaking from his laughter. She glared at him, but took his hand daintily, and he helped her off the floor. Had he not been shaking with laughter, he would have been the picture of a chivalrous gentleman.

"I got the exact same reaction from Malfoy and Salazar," he said once he stopped laughing enough to speak coherently.

"Really? How fascinating. I expect it had something to do with the fact that you appear to have found a _talking hat_," Rowena pointed out sarcastically.

"They screamed like little girls and everything, just like y-"

"Are you saying I scream like a little girl?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Godric backtracked immediately. "You have a scream very consistent with that of a grown woman."

Before Rowena could open her mouth for a scathing rebuttal, Godric clamped a hand over his mouth and flushed bright red.

"I did _not_ mean it like that, I swear!" he amended, embarrassed.

"_You sicken me, Godric Gryffindor!_" Rowena exclaimed, blushing almost as bright as Godric had as she realized the double entendre. She threw the hat at Godric angrily; it flew in a perfect arc, shrieking profanities all the way and adding to the cacophony in Rowena's usually silent office.

"You know what, I'll just go now," Godric said loudly over the shrieking of Rowena and the hat.

"Do me a favour, and never come back with that hat," she snapped, returning to her seat.

"SHUT UP, YE WITCH!" the hat, having somehow heard Rowena's comment despite its conspicuous lack of ears, shrieked back angrily, starting up with the profanities again. Godric shushed it as he would a child, then quickly left the office without another word.

She sighed, shook her head, and wondered how such a seemingly inept fool could be the son of the most powerful wizard in the world. _Not inept_, a voice in her head interrupted. _Just naive_. No matter, Godric still reminded her of a clumsy puppy with feet too large for its body. Perhaps, in time, he would grow into his role and stop acting like a child.

Until then... Well, Rowena didn't want to think about how long it would take for the lot of them to grow up. Too long, at any rate.

She was smiling to herself when Salazar tapped gently at her door. As soon as she looked up, Rowena composed her expression to one of cool indifference, although when his green eyes met hers, she felt the butterflies start up again in the pit of her stomach. Trying to ignore her sudden nervous jitters, she invited him inside.

"So, what brings you to my office?" she asked as she pretended to straighten her desk absently.

"I heard a commotion, and something that sounded like a dying llama, which I assumed was Godric screaming."

"And you wanted to check on me, to see if the big, bad Gryffindor was taking advantage of the fragile female?" she enquired with her usual twisted sarcasm.

Salazar smirked, and chuckled once. "Quite the opposite, I was checking to see if you had beaten Gryffindor into a bloody pulp yet. I was coming to cheer."

"It's good to know I have support. When I decide to violently flog the living snot out of Godric, I'll be sure to let you know."

"I'll bring cake."

"Sounds like a date."

"Really? What, is bonding over aggravated assault and battery your kind of date?"

"I'm of the opinion that burying the bodies makes the better date."

"There's nothing like a long, romantic walk with your sweetheart and a dead body to stimulate the soul," Salazar sagely agreed.

Rowena grinned, and Salazar smiled back. Not his normal smug smirk, but a real smile that brightened his whole face.

"Anyways, our plans aside, Godders, Malfoy and I are having a celebratory party, and we would like to formally invite you to join us in the Great Hall to get, as Godric delightfully put it, _wasted_."

"Wasted?"

"Drunk, three sheets to the wind, et cetera, et cetera."

"Now _that_ is what I'm talking about," Rowena said enthusiastically. After months of planning, sleepless nights, endless paperwork and various menial tasks, the school was ready, and she would like nothing more than to bask in the glorious ignorance of drunkenness. Even if only for one night, and even if she would wake up the next morning with a pounding headache.

"My lady," Salazar said, mocking Godric's formal speech to a T. He held out his hand to help Rowena out of her chair and smirked when she took it shakily.

It was the first time he had seen her composure slip since the meeting where she had verbally beaten the pulp out of Malfoy. It was amusing. He smirked just thinking about it.

When they got to the Great Hall, Godric and Malfoy had already busted out the booze on the Teacher's table, and by the looks of things, had already started drinking. Godric was wearing his talking hat, which was loudly demanding booze and women; Malfoy was laughing manically and dancing like what appeared to be a brain-damaged squirrel. Rowena entered with Salazar, and the Founders were complete.

After some introductory small-talk and chatting, they all gathered around the Teacher's table and raised their glasses in a toast.

"I'd like to propose a toast... speech... er... _thing_," Godric began, eloquent as always. Malfoy immediately sobered, looking grave and serious. Salazar grinned, and even Rowena managed a tentative smile.

It would have been a perfect group bonding moment, had half of them not been three sheets to the wind.

"When we started this school, we didn't even want to found one," he began, a bit too loudly. "And I'm not so sure about this idea still, but hey, if every night is like this-" _burp_ "-COUNT ME IN!" he roared, sloshing his wine all over the table.

"Here's to founding Hogwarts!" Salazar shouted.

"Here's to starting a new generation of education!"

"Here's to redefining ourselves and our families!" This from a surprisingly poetic Malfoy, considering he was so drunk standing was a difficulty.

They clinked glasses, and the alcohol flowed well into the night, coaxing laughter, much silliness, and several drunken duels initiated by the talking hat.

The last thing Rowena remembered was hearing the hat slurring, "Beer, beer, women and _beer_!" before passing out.


	8. Thunderclouds

Helga stayed up for the next week tending to Joseph, barely staying away from him long enough to look after her needs. She was almost ready to pass out from exhaustion, but Joseph was racked with a violent coughing fit and all thoughts of sleep were whisked out of her mind as she hurried over to check on him.

He wheezed once more, and then sighed, closing his eyes. His breathing was shallow and rapid, but he wasn't coughing anymore and he was in a deep, restful sleep, which pleased Helga. For the past few days, he had slept fitfully, and Helga not at all. Carrie, Faith and Richard slept in different rooms, and as far as Helga knew, they were fine. They spent most of the time outside, anyways, so Helga wasn't worried about them catching whatever Joseph had. She didn't worry about herself anymore.

At the beginning, she had also been plagued with a raging fever and terrible aches and chills, but when she felt her forehead, her temperature was normal. It hadn't bothered Helga as much anymore; she had learned to deal with the constant headaches and bone-deep aches and chills. Her health barely concerned her when Joseph was so sick.

A knock at the door stirred Helga, and she realized that she had dozed off. Shaking off the drowsiness, she opened the door find Martha holding a platter of food and steaming tea.

She frowned as she gave Helga a once-over, but didn't say anything as she fussed over Joseph.

"My, he looks a little better today," she observed, while rearranging the covers around his frail body.

"The tea will be cold by the time he wakes up again," Helga said quietly, folding her arms over her chest.

Martha looked up, and smiled tiredly. Helga guessed she hadn't been getting much sleep either, now that she had an extra 5 children to look after. Helga felt a twinge of guilt, but that was overridden with her worry for Joseph. If they hadn't have found Martha and Larry, they would have died eventually; Joseph would never have survived more than a few days with his sickness.

"The tea isn't for him," Martha explained, straightening up and handing Helga a cup of tea.

"Oh." Helga nodded slowly; days without sleep were taking their toll on her mental faculties. "Thank you," she said, after taking a small sip. It tasted deliciously of peppermint.

Martha merely smiled, and cupped a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

"You should go outside for once, Helga," Martha suggested after a few minutes of silence.

Helga shook her head. "I can't leave Joseph," she insisted.

"He's getting better," Martha cajoled. "Look at him. He's sleeping better than he has in days. If you don't want to go outside, then at least sleep. You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

Admittedly, Joseph was looking better, and Helga was about to drop dead with exhaustion. Maybe just a few hours wouldn't hurt..

After a few agonizing moments of indecision, she finally nodded. "I'll sleep in here."

Although Helga could tell Martha didn't approve of the idea, she didn't say anything. After insisting Helga have another cup of tea, Martha left her tray of food with Helga and went off with Larry to tend to her children.

Helga slumped into the bed next to Joseph's, and closed her eyes wearily. She shouldn't have neglected her sleeping habits like that, especially when she should have been looking after her siblings and keeping them out of trouble. Before she could pursue those thoughts anymore, sleep closed over her like a blanket of clouds, and the world fell away.

* * *

It could have been days or weeks or possibly years, but Helga finally woke up, blinking against the blinding sunshine streaming into the room. Martha must have opened the blinds when she cleared up the tray of food, Helga reasoned as she yawned and stretched her arms over her head.

On the bed beside her, Joseph was breathing deeply, still asleep, but looking much better than before. Perhaps, as Martha said, he was taking a turn for the better.

Helga got up and after tending to Joseph a bit, she kissed his forehead, smoothed out his unruly hair, and stepped out of the small room for the first time in more than a week.

She immediately regretted doing so. Nicholas was standing right outside the door, holding yet another tray of food and tea. Helga almost ran smack into him, but Nicholas managed to sidestep Helga and save the tray of food from crashing to the floor.

"Watch it," he growled, shoving the tray of food into her hands and stalking off down the hall before Helga could even apologize.

"Sorry," she called after him, although it was too late. He had already put a damper on her mood. She no longer felt like playing with Carrie and Faith in the sunshine.

Instead, she retreated to the room again and ate a small breakfast, leaving the rest for Joseph. He would undoubtedly be hungry when he woke, and Helga decided it would be better to stay with him rather than risk meeting Nicholas again in the halls.

Carrie came in a short while later with Faith trailing slightly behind, and begged Helga to play with them.

"We missed you, Helga. You're always up here with Joseph. Please Helga?" Carrie asked, looking up at Helga with impossibly large eyes. Helga, unable to resist the charms of her smallest sister, grudgingly agreed. Joseph wouldn't wake up for a while, anyways.

The late August sunshine was warm on her face as she stepped outside. It was nice, Helga had to admit, and running felt even better. She hadn't stretched her legs in a long time.

Carrie and Faith giggled as Helga chased them around the yard, trying to catch them and tickle them. It was a game they had played with their father a lot, and Helga could tell that even though they were all having fun, thoughts of their father and what they had left behind were never far below the surface.

Richard watched from afar as he helped Larry and his sons hitch up the team, and he too was reminded of his father as he watched his sisters laugh and giggle as Helga caught them both and tickled them. But, as always, he kept silent, and turned back to Larry when he could stand it no longer. Hastily, he wiped the gathering tears away from his eyes, and bent down to check the horse's harness.

Although Faith, Carrie and Joseph were too young to understand the horror of what happened to heir parents, he and Helga were not oblivious. Every time their eyes met, he could see the toll it was taking on Helga, and on himself. Both of them were forced to grow up too soon. He longed to play in the sunshine with his siblings, carefree as a bird frolicking in the wide summer skies, but he had to earn his keep with the Evans', just like Helga did.

For the rest of the afternoon, Richard toiled in the fields with Larry and his oldest sons, while Helga, Carrie and Faith eventually went inside to help Martha with dinner preparations. A short while later, they were called in, and the dinner was eaten merrily, as news of Joseph's slow recovery cheered everyone greatly.

Only Nicholas remained broodingly silent, but Richard suspected he was just generally unhappy with the world and thought nothing of it. Even Helga was cheerful. The sunshine did her well, Richard thought as he helped clear the table.

And everything was fine until morning. Not for the first time, Richard woke to shrill screaming. Wearily, he pulled himself out of bed and entered Joseph's room down the hall, where the screaming was coming from.

Helga was sitting on Joseph's bed, rocking back and forth while she held his limp body in her arms. Carrie and Faith were screaming at the top of their lungs, Carrie for Joseph, and Faith at Helga.

It didn't take long for the whole household to converge in that one tiny room, but it took even less time for Faith to destroy Helga even further than Joseph's death already had.

"I _hate _you, Helga! You let Joseph die!" she shrieked, while Carrie sat beside Helga and cried. Martha and Larry walked in as Faith screamed her last accusation at Helga. "You're the witch! You should have died, not mom and dad!"

Helga, who had been in an unfeeling daze the whole time, finally woke up. At first, her lips trembled, and her eyes went glassy. Then she dropped Joseph's dead body on the bed, and fled the room, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face as Faith's words rang painfully in her ears.

"_You should have died, Helga! They should have burned _you_!"_

* * *

Nicholas and Richard dug Joseph's grave in a small clearing to the side of the house. They worked in silence, and when they were finished and had laid Joseph's tiny, frail body to rest, they covered him up again and set a wooden cross near the head of the grave.

Helga still had not reappeared, and Carrie was the only one to visit Joseph's grave with a bundle of dandelions. She set them down on his grave, laid down beside his cross, and cried. Richard didn't have the heart to disturb her, but he also picked his own bundle of flowers and set them on the small grave.

Carrie stayed there until sundown, when Richard finally managed to cajole her into sleeping in the house. A while later, while Richard was still awake and the rest of the household was asleep, he heard footsteps down the hall. He opened his door to see Helga tiptoeing down the hall, looking paler than death.

She saw Richard, and tears welled in her eyes again. "We leave tomorrow," she said shakily when she passed him.

Richard nodded, dumbfounded. Joseph's death must have pushed her over the edge, so soon after watching their parents die.

Helga, meanwhile, could not sleep. She had only come upstairs to warn Richard of their departure, and she decided she would spend the night by Joseph's grave. It was, after all, her fault Joseph had died. No matter how many times she convinced herself it wasn't her fault, there were a million ways to place the blame squarely on herself.

If they hadn't left home, he would have never gotten sick. If she had stayed with him instead of playing with Carrie and Faith, he wouldn't have died. A million ways to trace the fault back to herself, to her failures as his oldest sister.

In the moonlight, Joseph's freshly dug grave looked even more heartbreaking. It was so small. Someone that young should not have died. Someone so loved should not have been taken away from her. And most of all, someone so stupidly naive should not have been entrusted to take care 4 smaller children.

Helga collapsed next to Joseph's tiny grave, a spot earlier occupied by Carrie, and drew her knees up to her chest. She didn't cry, though.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Nicholas said quietly as he sat down next to Helga. She hadn't heard him approach, and she didn't know why he was suddenly so concerned for her, but she was beyond caring. She was planning their next move, bottling up the grief and sadness and burying it deeply in the farthest recesses of her heart. The rest of her siblings were counting on her to be strong. She couldn't fail them again.

Nicholas placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder, pulling her away from her planning.

"I... I'm.. sorry," he said after a moment of silence. Helga just nodded, staring blankly ahead.

"It's okay. You won't have to put up with us anymore. We're leaving in the morning," she said, her voice flat.

Nicholas snorted incredulously. "Really? And where are you going to go? You're just going to wander in the wild again and wait until another one of your siblings drops dead?"

"We can't just mooch off your family. There's no way your grandparents alone can support 10 children. We've taken up too much of your time already," she pointed out.

"If you and Richard help, it'll work out fine. As long as you earn your keep, I see no reason why you can't stay."

"But how? The only thing I know is housework. I can't do anything else useful." Her voice was dejected. As much as she hated to stay with the Evans', she knew it was the best place for them.

"I'll teach you how to hunt, or do field work, or something," Nicholas offered.

Helga remained silent as she thought over the possibilities.

If they could just stay here and never have to leave, everything would eventually be fine. It was too far down the road for Helga to see, but eventually, she knew things would right themselves. Carrie and Faith would have someone to look after them and love them like grandparents; Richard could finally learn farming, something father had promised him long ago, yet never got around to; and Helga could finally rest knowing her siblings were in good hands, that they could survive without her constant failing attempts at normalcy. A small scrap of hope, resuscitated by these thoughts, fluttered in her chest like a fragile butterfly.

But no matter how much she wished and hoped and prayed, nothing could ever be the same again after Joseph's death. Nothing would ever clear her conscience of her failure. The stray flutter of hope was crushed by her overwhelming sense of failure and loss.

She laid back and rested her head on her arms, spent of tears, and stared at the stars. And just for a moment, she allowed herself to feel. She envied those stars. They were so far removed from the pain of the world, so far away from everything, all alone in their space above the heavens. Not lonely, for they could see everything going on in the worlds below them, but solitary by nature. What would it be like to look down on the earth from so high? To see everything, yet feel nothing? To know everything, yet never experience emotions?

The stars, so far above her in the velvety night sky, were trapped in their own perfect world, impossibly beautiful and unattainable. That was were Joseph belonged, up in heaven with those beautiful stars, free from all pain and sadness. That was what all her siblings deserved, and that was exactly what Helga couldn't give them.

When Nicholas left, Helga curled up next to Joseph's cross and allowed herself to cry for a while. She couldn't say sorry enough for all the pain she had caused her siblings. It seemed that every where she went, she carried with her a thundercloud of sadness that rained down grief and unhappiness on all those around her.

Would there ever be enough time to apologize for all her failures?

* * *

A/N: *weeps* It had to be done, I'm sorry. D: *dodged flying trash cans*

...

I'd like to say thanks to my 2 faithful reviews, Kitty Bridgetta (I hope I spell that right) and Sparky the Wonder Nerd aka my best internet friend, and all of my other readers, I love you all. ^^ And to what little readers I have after this, it will get better. Hopefully.

And remember kids, vehicular manslaughter is wrong! :)


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